


Path of Least Resistance

by pippen2112



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (but not as much as you'd think), Angst with a Happy Ending, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: "I don't want to come."Beau freezes, half way through stepping out of her pants. "Huh?"Seated at the foot of the bed, Yasha’s working off her own clothes. Her lips are rosy, and her hair is already tangled from pausing halfway up the stairs of the inn to make out. But now, Yasha holds Beau’s gaze, unflinching. "When we have sex. I don't want to orgasm.”  Her flush darkens. Yasha crosses her arms over her chest. “It's pretty self-explanatory. "Sure, all the words make sense individually, but it's the shape of the sentence Beau can't wrap her brain around.





	Path of Least Resistance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eclaire-de-Lune (RoyalHeather)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/gifts).



> This work came out of a random dialogue snippet that came to me late one night. While I was trying to figure out what to do with it, Erica whispered "Beau/Yasha" at me and now we have this and I am eternally grateful for her suggestion.
> 
> This fic is mostly canon compliant. If you're behind, it contains spoilers to Episodes 27 and 46. 
> 
> Though it contains one explicit sex scene, I tagged this fic as Mature instead of Explicit because it deals more with the emotions and the developing relationship between Beau and Yasha than the smut. If you want to avoid the explicit scene, skip the scene that begins "Her head is woozy, her fingertips numb, and the delicate hand on her chest is surprisingly strong." (It covers Beau's fade to black moment in Episode 27).

"I don't want to come."

Beau freezes, half way through stepping out of her pants. "Huh?"

Seated at the foot of the bed, Yasha’s working off her own clothes. Her lips are rosy, and her hair is already tangled from pausing halfway up the stairs of the inn to make out—Yasha had held Beau up against a wall and accepted every one of Beau’s needy kisses with low moans and wandering hands; it was _awesome_. But now, Yasha holds Beau’s gaze, unflinching. "When we have sex. I don't want to orgasm.” Her flush darkens. Yasha crosses her arms over her chest. “It's pretty self-explanatory. "

Sure, all the words make sense individually, but it's the shape of the sentence Beau can't wrap her brain around. Sex is supposed to feel good for both people, and as far as Beau is concerned, few things feel quite as good as an orgasm, especially with someone you— Beau cuts that train of thought off before it could lead somewhere she wasn’t ready to consider. After all, this was just two friends scratching an itch instead of throwing away coin on a companion for the evening.

By some miracle, Beau doesn’t topple after fifteen seconds balancing on one foot. She rights herself quickly, leaving her pants pooled around one ankle, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. “So, do you not want me to touch you then?”

“No,” Yasha replies, her voice going soft as she folds her shawl and piles her armor by the foot of the bed, her sword propped on to. “No, I want you to touch me, Beauregard. And I want to touch you. I just don’t—” Yasha cuts herself off, shaking her head.

When she doesn’t respond, Beau asks, “Is it… It’s kinda kinky, right?”

Tension hardens Yasha’s posture. “No, but—”

Beau interrupts, “I just want you to enjoy yourself too. Like, if you don’t wanna be here.” A spike of rejection lances through her. Beau’s head drops, the corners of her eyes prickling, but she blinks through it, breathing through the pain. She’s good at that. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t wanna, that’s all I’m saying.”

Hands land on her shoulders, firm and cool through her shirt. Fuck, Beau didn’t even hear her move. When she looks up, Yasha is gazing down at her, determination gleaming in her eyes. “I am where I want to be,” she says as she moves her hands up from Beau’s shoulders to cup her cheeks. “Here, with you.”

Beau swallows hard as Yasha’s thumb trails across her cheek. Relief and desire and confusion swirl in her head and in her heart, but she pushes those thoughts away. “Tell me if I do something you don’t like. Alright?”

Yasha smiles, not with her mouth but with her eyes. She nods and closes the distance between their lips. “Of course.”

#

"Copper for your thoughts?" Molly asks over the quiet crackle of the fire. They're a week out from Zadash, headed north on a job for the Gentleman, and Beau's already starting to forget what civilization feels like. She knows it exists, she's experienced it for gods' sake, but every night of watch in the freezing dark, it gets farther and farther away.

Before she can stop herself, Beau's gaze flits to Yasha spread out on her bedroll, her eyes closed and her brow faintly creased. Must be a bad dream. Something in Beau's stomach lurches, urging her to go over and press herself into Yasha's arms until she wakes up and the nightmare is nothing but a foggy memory. 

Molly follows her eyeline, his gaze softening when he lands on Yasha. He leans back against the edge of the cart, lolling his head back toward her. "Well, I'd tell you to grow a pair and get your head out of your ass, but word is you already have."

Beau grimaces. Of all the people she could be discussing this with, Molly is pretty solidly at the bottom of her list. Okay, maybe second from the bottom--she'd probably implode if she had to have this conversation with her old man, but gods willing, she'll never have to see that bastard ever again. She opens her mouth to sass back at Molly, tell him to fuck off and mind his own business, but a nagging voice at the back of her mind stops her. Exhaling heavily, she keeps her gaze on the dark horizon and asks, "So, you and Yasha used to... you know..." She hesitates and makes a vague hand gesture.

He chuckles. "Yes, we used to--" He repeats the gesture, smirking. "Looking for pointers?"

"Ew, no," Beau replies, shuddering. "No, I was wondering. When you two were together, did she ever... make any weird requests?"

Molly doesn't answer immediately. When she glances toward him, his eyes are narrowed and his expression unreadable. "Depends what you define as weird."

"Forget it," Beau says, her cheeks not despite the frigid air. She pulls her cloak up around her head, but she suspects Molly's already noted her discomfort. Fuck him; he doesn't know her.

Molly hops off the cart and stokes the camp fire, then comes back to lean against the cart, not looking her way. "Is it the self-denial thing that you're curious about?"

Beau flinches, her throat constricted. When she finally dredges up her voice, she asks, "Any idea what that's about?"

"Not really," Molly says as she scrubs a hand through his hair and rubs at his horns. "But you know Yasha. She's not the most forth-coming with information, and I was... new enough I didn't really question it too much. Just did as she asked and tried my best to make her happy."

"Yeah, but..." Beau trails off, unsure of how to finish that thought. _But what if it's just me she doesn't want to come with?_ Even with this new information, Beau can't shake the bur of rejection in her craw. 

Molly angles his head toward her ever so slightly, his eyes still fixed on the fire. "If it's causing you that much grief, I'm not the person you should be talking to."

She knows it's true, but Beau frowns just the same. Side-eyeing Molly, she picks at her fingers and mutters, "You know, when you're not being an asshole, you're actually pretty helpful."

He grins. "You and I may get on like kerosene and spars, but Yasha's always going to be important to me. And for better or worse, you're who makes her happy. Even if her tastes are--" Molly shoots her an appraising glance. "--questionable."

As she flips him the bird, Beau replies, "At least we can agree on something."

"Oh, fuck you too."

#

Her head is woozy, her fingertips numb, and the delicate hand on her chest is surprisingly strong. Nothing like Yasha, and yet…

Beau’s throat constricts, but she swallows hard, banishing those thoughts. Not now. They’ll only harsh her buzz. Don’t think about Yasha, Fjord, and Jester in the hands of the Iron Shepherds. Don’t think about Molly, pale and cold as they wrapped him in his Platinum Dragon tapestry and buried him. Don’t think. Don’t think.

“Tell me what you want.” Vorsa’s sultry voice cuts through the mess in her head.

Beau hits the bed, falls onto the mattress. Vorsa straddles her, her strong dark thighs bracketing her hips. For a solid ten seconds, Beau stares up at her, hands too numb to touch, mouth too dry to speak. With a small grin, Vorsa rolls her hips down. “Or do you just want to look at me for the hour?”

“No,” Beau says, her voice wrecked and fuck, Vorsa hasn’t even done anything yet. Her cheeks burning, Beau cups her hands around Vorsa’s thighs, providing some gentle pressure. “Want you to ride my face.”

The elf startles, her eyes going wide for a split second before she crawls up the bed. She settles her weight around Beau’s shoulders and pulls aside her negligee. “Anything else?”

“Don’t hold back.” Beau cups her ass and pulls her closer to her mouth. “Wanna feel you come.”

When Beau licks into her, Vorsa lets out a small sound of contentment. Beau groans and buries her face in Vorsa’s cunt. Squeezes her eyes shut and imagine someone else smothering her with their weight. Someone else’s gentle cries as Vorsa quivers over her and comes. Again, and again, and again.

Beau wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache, a sore jaw, and an ache in her chest. _Fuck._

#

Beau’s never seen the ocean, and now she’s on a stolen boat drifting farther and farther from dry land. Her stomach twinges and her legs ache after a long day of kicking ass, but their little family is in one piece again. Yasha’s back, no worse for wear as far as Beau can tell, and whatever bullshit quest Yasha’s on, it’s leading her out onto the water. They’re together again. For now.

Satisfied they’re out of reach of the Concord, at least for the night, they settle in for a night of rest. As the others drift off to sleep, Beau sneaks into Yasha’s bunk. She presses up against Yasha’s back, wraps her tight in her arms, and holds on with everything she can.

“Alright?” Yasha asks softly.

Beau nods into her shoulder, her heart beating a bit more steadily. “Missed you.”

Yasha doesn’t speak in response, but she twines her legs with Beau’s.

It’s not what she wants. Deep down, Beau wants to pulls Yasha around to face her and kiss her breath away and trace every inch of her skin. Commit every new scar to memory and remind them both that they’re alive.

But when in all her life has Beauregard Lionett ever gotten what she wanted.

#

It’s late, and Beau’s not sure if its the booming storm or the crashing waves that woke her. Either way, she’s conscious and sore and a little nauseous from the ship thrashing left and right under her. She sits up in her narrow bunk and bashes her head against the bed above her.

“ _Fuck!”_ She rubs her temple, worrying away the flare of pain, but there’s no grumbles or groans of complaint around her. That’s weird, right? Jester snores and Yasha is quick to rise at the slightest hint of danger. But the room is quiet.

Beau drops out of her bunk and finds that the other beds are empty. Weird. She tugs her blanket off the bed and wraps it around her shoulders and quietly pads out of their quarters and down to the galley. She can hear thunder retreating, but the wind still roars above deck and the waves heave and tumble. Maybe a piece of hardtack will be enough for her stomach to decide if she’s motion sick or just hungry.

Bracing herself, Beau creeps through the halls, but just outside the galley, she spies the familiar glow of Caduces’s light spell, hears hushed voices. _Looks like I’m not the only one up._ As she approaches, the voices become stronger. Clearer.

“…they found out, and the punishment for that is death.” Yasha. But she doesn’t sound right. Yasha may normally be soft spoken and awkward, but now, her voice trembles with every word. “They killed her, and I ran away.”

Beau stops short of the doorway. In the galley, Jester protests, offering words of comfort; Yasha mumbles a brief thank you, but Beau is still scrambling to catch up. What are they talking about? Who is “they” and who did they hurt to make Yasha sound so fragile?

“In our tribe, when you get married, it’s for life, so…” Yasha trails off, and the silence leaves Beau winded as if she’d just taken a hit to the chest. Yasha was married? Why didn’t she say? Is that why she doesn’t want want— “Even if she’s gone, she’ll always be mine.”

“What was her name?” Jester asks

“Her name was Zuala,” she answers.

Beau can picture the sad smile on Yasha’s face, and she can’t decided if she wants to punch something or run back to bed and pretend she never heard any of this. But she doesn’t flee. She stays stock still a few steps from the galley door, listening intently to every detail of Yasha’s story, feeling smaller and smaller for every second she lingers. If Yasha had wanted her to know this, she would’ve told her, but Beau just can’t make herself leave.

“Did he heal your heart,” Jester asks when Yasha talks about the Storm Lord, “or are you still sad?”

“I don’t know if my heart can ever be healed,” Yasha says, her voice heavy with more emotion than Beau can fathom, and it breaks her heart to hear. “But I’m okay with that. I feel like if it were put back together that means Zuala would be gone. But I know one day I want to go back there. I don’t know where she was buried, but I have so many flowers to bring to her.”

Eyes stinging, Beau turns and creeps back to bed. _Guess that’s what you get for eavesdropping._

She tosses and turns until the next shift change, but no sleep finds her.

#

It’s not until they make landfall in Nicodranas that Beau gets a moment alone with Yasha. Their last night at the Lavish Chateau. Jester’s staying with her mom, so they have the room to themselves, but Beau can’t bring herself to make use of the fact like she normally would. Can’t throw herself at Yasha with her usual gusto when they have time alone. Instead she cross-legged on the bed, hands twined together in her lap, her throat tight with anticipation.

“Boots,” Yasha teases as she sets about removing her thin armor.

Beau smiles, can’t help the way her heart swells at how normal it feels, how fuckin’ domestic it seems. But then she remembers why that’s not the case and her head drops between her shoulders. Still, she swings her feet off the bed and starts kicking off her boots.

 _Just get it over with,_ she tells herself, and she blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

Yasha pauses, going mountain still for a moment. “For what?”

Cheeks burning hot, Beau squeezes her eyes shut and goes on. “I overheard you talking with Jester,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat but she forces out the words. “About _before._ And by the time I realized what I was hearing, it was too late.” Boots off, she turns her back to Yasha and flops on the bed. “I’m sorry I eavesdropped.”

Yasha doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. But that could mean anything right? Could mean Yasha isn’t hurt or angry or debating walking out and chasing the first storm she can find. Beau keeps her eyes squeezed shut, afraid that if she moves all those things will come to pass.

When a worn hand comes to rest on her bicep, Beau jolts in surprise. Yasha is standing beside the bed, hurt flickering on her face, but there’s something more there, something Beau doesn’t have the capacity to understand right now. Yasha squeezes her arm and averts her gaze. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know if it would have mattered to you.”

Beau nods. “I get it,” she says, sniffling. “I’m kinda an asshole about everything.”

For once, it doesn’t make Yasha huff a quiet laugh. Tension ripples through her arms and shoulders, and Beau can feel her readying to pull away. 

Before she can stop herself, Beau reaches out and catches Yasha’s hand in hers. “I’m not good at this,” Beau whispers, unsure because this isn’t the kind of thing she can fake her way through. “I wanna help you get back to her.”

“You… you do?”

Beau nods.

“Even if I don’t come back.”

Squeezing Yasha’s hand, she nods again. “Yeah, fuck the Empire.”

Yasha laughs, weak and startled but hopeful, and Beau’s stomach flutters.

#

The next morning, Beau drags herself away from Yasha’s naked warmth and sneaks out into the slowly-waking streets. She finds the nearest vendor selling flowers and buys a bouquet of native wildflowers. She looks down at the vivid, waxy petals, the blooms unique to the Menagerie Coast and smiles.

Maybe it’s stupid, giving herself to a woman who’s already given her heart to someone else. Maybe she’s setting herself up for heartbreak, but all her life, Beau’s never taken the path of least resistance. Why start now?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Questions, comments, and concrit welcome!


End file.
